Trickster's Loss
by Tortallan Renegade
Summary: AU Trickster's Choice. To aid the Raka rebellion, Aly is kidnapped and brought to the Copper Isles. As she awaits her fate in the slave market, Mithros' suspicion is aroused, forcing Kyprioth to abandon her. Can Aly survive slavery on her own?
1. Kyprioth

**Disclaimer: **All characters, settings, names, and other copyrighted material belongs to Tamora Pierce or its original author. I'm just a student who likes to borrow fictional worlds and torment the characters.

**Author's Note:** This story is an alternative to Trickster's Choice, created by one small change at the beginning. It begins just after Aly has been captured by the pirates and put into the slave pens in Rajmuat.

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_**Three weeks after Aly's capture.**_

_**Rajmuat, on the island of Kypriang, capital of the Copper Isles**_

Aly's dreams that night were both confusing and terrifying. Though she was definitely asleep, Aly could still feel the rusted metal bars of her slave pen digging into the tender bruises on her back. As she slept, the dull throbbing pain rapidly turned into strong ache that urged her to wake up and move, but she could not pull herself free from the haze of sleep. At first she thought Ganiel, the dream god, was playing tricks on her. Then her vision cleared and sounds began to filter through her ears.

_She's of no use to us now, even you can see that._

The person who spoke had a deep voice. It was pleasant enough to listen to, but it did not contain the familiar Tortallan lilt that Aly had been missing dearly since her capture. Suddenly, a screech that reminded Aly of a bird's shriek ripped through her dream.

_Mithros and the Goddess grow suspicious. I can't allow them to interfere any further with my plans; the Raka must succeed at all costs. I'll find a new vessel. Perhaps one that's a little more _inconspicuous_._

Aly struggled to turn towards the speaker, but her body refused to move. One of the first things Aly's Da had ever taught her was to be aware of her surroundings. No matter how boring or how ordinary they appeared to be at the time. So, if she could not see _who_ was speaking, she could at least look at _what _was around her.

Glancing around as far as her body would allow her, she could see a gently sloped hill rising from the grass covered ground before her. One old tree sat atop the hill, it's trunk and branches twisting up towards the golden sun that sat high in the cloudy sky. The sight of the open sky made her heart ache fiercely for freedom.

Aly's musings were interrupted by another fierce shriek, this one even angrier than the last. Aly ducked instinctively as a black cloud descended around her from behind.

The gentle voice distorted, matching the shrieking cloud's anger notch for notch. _Who are you to tell _me_ what to do? I'm a _god - your_ god in fact - or have you forgotten your allegiances._

The black cloud swirled around Aly in a fit of rage, ruffling her hair and clothes. She dropped to the ground, curling her body around her knees and shielding her head with her arms. She had been in several market brawls before, the first breaking out on her seventh birthday, and she likened the cloud to her experience. The explosion of fragmented noise and violence, blows meant for one person landing on others, people screaming and yelling as they dove into the mess after their friends. But this brawl felt different to the others. Even as the storm of noise and movement seethed above her, the most Aly felt was the wind and an occasional brush of a feather, or wing.

_Enough!_ The god who she could not see suddenly cried. _I don't need your help – your opinions mean _nothing_ to me. You shall decide _now_: Agree to our new arrangement, or leave our wager. I'm sure the ravens and the magpies will be more than happy to take your place._

The black cloud surged up and away from Aly, heading towards the knotted branches of the old tree at the top of the hill. As the cloud began to settle, it also started to form many dark shadows that writhed and hopped across the branches._ Crows_, Aly realised, _they're just crows._

_Choose_.

An elderly crow, feathers greying around his beak and eyes, dove down to the earth, flicking his wing feathers up at the last moment to glide to a gentle stop in the grass beside Aly. He waited for a moment, considering Aly with one clouded eye. She shuddered as he studied her. Whatever the god and these crows were arguing about must have been important, and it seemed to involve her.

All too soon, the old crow reached his decision, pushing his folded wings upwards in a crow's shrug.

_Good. Our wager is still on._

Another crow screeched, swooping down to land between his elder and Aly. This crow was much younger than the first, with a distinctive splash of white feathers across his back. The feathers glowed in Aly's Sight, this crow must have vexed the wrong mage.

_What is it now, troublemaker?_

The marked crow hopped over to Aly who still knelt, curled up on the floor. He tapped her shoulder with his beak then cawed at the god behind Aly.

_She will be left here to make her own way back. I can't afford to waste the amount of power that it would take to help her, nor can I lift the magical barrier that I placed around her to prevent scrying and other such magicks. If The Lioness or the Black Robe Mage were able to find her, it would spell an end to all of my plans. By the time dear Aly makes it back to Tortall on her own, the rebellion should be well underway, and nothing the Goddess or Mithros can do will be able to stop me. It's unfortunate, but unavoidable._

The young crow glared over Aly's shoulder, flicking his wing tips in agitation. The elderly crow, sensing trouble, hobbled over on stiff legs, and pecked fiercely at the flicking wings. The young crow turned on his elder, beak snapping, before launching himself into the air and swiftly rising up into the cover of a low cloud bank.

_Touchy. _The person behind her shifted, causing some sort of metal, possibly necklaces, to clink against each other. _And as for the rest of you, be gone!_

The crows noisily reformed their black cloud and took off, following the marked one up into the clouds. Aly watched them go, wondering if her dream could get any stranger.

A pair of sandal clad feet appeared in her line of vision as the rest of the person's body followed close behind. It was the image of a man, two inches taller than Aly, lean and wiry like a dancer, shoulders proud, chin up. He had salt-and-pepper hair that was more salt than pepper. It extended all the way down to frame his mouth and face in a trimmed beard. His nose was short and broad, his eyebrows shaped in pointed arches, leagues of mischief gleaming in his large brown eyes. He wore a Kyprin-style wraparound coat of green cloth. It was hung all over with charms, pins, broaches, and bits of jewellery that clinked together as he moved. Aly stared at him for a moment, transfixed.

_Now sleep, Alianne._

"But," Aly started, pushing herself up off the ground and to her feet, "what am I meant to do? And who are you? And those crows?"

_Mortals. I'm a god. Kyprioth, the Trickster, and I do what I like. The crows are merely some acquaintances who have agreed to do my dirty work, for a fee. And you, Aly dearest, are going to sleep._

"But how do I get out of here? I'm stuck, and it seems to me that it's your fault I'm here."

_My fault? I'll admit that it was in my interests to get you here, but now it's not. You're a smart girl, tough little Alianne Cooper – even your name betrays your nature – I have every confidence that you'll be fine on your own._

"And if I'm not?"

The humour left Kyprioth's brown eyes as his face became stony. _What happens to you is no fault of my own. Pray to the mother goddess if it makes you feel better._

"So you're just going to leave me here and-"

_Yes. Now you're giving me a headache, sleep! They don't call me the Trickster for nothing._

Aly struggled to keep her eyes open with all her will. If Kyprioth had brought her here in the first place and would not take her back, he should suffer her wrath instead of ordering her around like a common scut. But her eyelids were drooping, and her mind was becoming so sluggish that she almost missed Kyprioth slip a small ornamental dagger into her hand. Almost.

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**End Note: **Like it? Hate it? Thoroughly confused? Let me know in a review (I have enabled anonymous reviews, so don't worry if you don't have an account!) Also, because this story is an AU (Alternate Universe), some things may be different, but I'm going to try my best to keep everything as close to canon as I can - just not the plot! This story is also my first attempt at improving on my previous ones, hopefully I can do it. Thanks ever so much for reading!

The next update will be on Saturday (I do mean next Saturday though, not tomorrow) - but , I'm very forgetful so someone may have to remind me...

**Important (Before I forget): Does anyone know the proper name for the language that is spoken in Carthak during Aly's time?**


	2. Bruises and Breaks

**Disclaimer: **All characters, settings, names, and other copyrighted material belongs to Tamora Pierce or its original author. I'm just a student who likes to borrow fictional worlds and torment the characters.

**Author's Note: **Thanks to MagnetTarpit for reviewing and those of you who read this, favourited it (I think I just made up a word there) and added this to your story alert! Your support is what keeps me writing here.

As for this chapter, some of the sentences may seem familiar because I have based this chapter off the one in Trickster's Choice. This chapter is here to set up for the next one were most of the plot is introduced and things start to get a _lot_ more interesting. So read, review and enjoy!

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_**The Slave Market, Rajmuat, on the island of Kypriang, capital of the Copper Isles**_

Aly huddled in the corner of the slave pen farthest from the door. Her knees were drawn up to her chest, arms around her knees, forehead on her arms. She was barefoot, her cold and dirty feet tightly pressed together. Her hair, after the pirate's had cut it off, now covered her head in a fine layer of red-gold stubble. She was dressed in a rough, sleeveless, undyed tunic, with a rag that served her for a loincloth. The pirates' leather collar had been exchanged for one that would keep her in the Rajmuat slave market until she'd been sold.

After three weeks away from home, two of them on a filthy and disgusting pirate ship, her body was skinnier and striped with ugly bruises. Her head ached from a purple knot on the back of her head, a pirate's gift after she had warned him away from touching her with a kick to the cod. To anyone inside or outside the pen, Aly looked as cowed as any slave about to be sold for the dozenth time.

Her brain, however, ticked steadily, working through what was likely to happen and what she could do about it. After the previous night's dream with Kyprioth and the crows, Aly knew that no help would be coming from home, or through any means that Kyprioth had intended to use. Only she could save herself now and find her way home, so she had to be well prepared.

Tomorrow the slaves in her pen were to be sold. Escape from the pen was not impossible, but it would have required more time than she had, and there was the nuisance of her leather collar to be considered. The easiest way for her to escape now was to be sold. She could then leave her new masters, acquire money and clothes, and find a ship that would be willing to take her back to Tortall.

Even though being sold was her best bet at an escape, it was still the part that she feared the most. At sixteen, she would be considered ripe for a career as a master's toy. She wasn't sure what she wanted to do about her virginity yet, but she did not want to lose it as a bedwarmer.

So, in an attempt to discourage any master who would buy a slave for pleasure, Aly had eaten little until now. The other slaves had told her she was mad to give away the meagre scraps they were fed, but Aly did not want to look as shapely as she had at home. Anything that made her look less appealing and more troublesome helped her even more, including the fuzz that she now had for hair and her tender bruises.

Aly watched her companions over crossed arms. They clustered around the gate, pushing and shoving to get to the front of the crowd waiting for food. She knew some by name now, but most stayed away from 'the strange Tortallan'. One who she did know, Feran, a man of few words and many punches, forced his way to the front of the crowd. Smiling, Aly got to her feet. Here was her last chance to gain a few more ugly bruises.

Keys rattled outside the pen. The gate groaned as it was pushed open to admit armed guards with padded batons. The slaves shrank back, watching with greedy eyes as cooks tossed a number of small loaves onto the floor. Aly reached the back of the crowd just as the cooks were setting down pots of weak porridge. She shouldered her way into the middle of the crowd as the cooks and guards withdrew, slamming the gate behind them.

The slaves surged forwards, the strongest captives keeping things orderly while they helped themselves and their friends. Feran grinned broadly as he elbowed his way back through the crowd, speaking in fluent Carthaki to a friend. Aly seized her chance as he passed her, running into him, knocking his porridge flying.

The big man stared dumbly at her for a moment, lips twitching. Aly could see his thoughts flicking rapidly across his face. His friend took a step back as the grin returned to Ferant's mouth.

"Stupid," he growled in Common, rolling the word around in his throat. "Very stupid."

Aly ducked his first punch before it could break her collarbone, but missed the second. She straightened again, holding her newly broken nose, to be knocked down a moment later by a kick to her knee. The surging crowd dragged her under its feet, brutally trampling her.

Aly curled into a ball, heaving. If this was what war felt like, she suddenly had more respect for what her mother was going through on the Scanran border. She tried to get to her feet again, but someone stepped on her hand as another slave tripped over her stomach. Aly gave up on attempting to stand, crawling through the crowd instead to find a way out.

"That was stupid," another voice informed her as she crawled into someone's foot. Aly braced herself, expecting another punch. An arm wrapped under her arms as another hooked around her back. "Up, you mad easterner."

The woman who helped Aly to her feet was strong and rather plain faced. She set the battered and bleeding girl in a corner and disappeared back into the dispersing crowd.

Once she had the pen's wooden walls at her back and side, Aly clenched her teeth and moulded the broken cartilage of her nose so it wouldn't heal entirely crooked. The pain made her eyes water and her head spin. Still, she was pleased with herself, even though the encounter with Ferant had not gone entirely to plan.

"You'll have a nice fighter's scar on that brow, little girl," the woman remarked as she came back, settling in the dirt beside Aly. Confused, Aly reached a throbbing hand up to her eyebrow and felt a tender split in the skin. The woman handed her a rag to wipe the blood away with before offering a crust of bread soaked in thin porridge. "And a broken nose – they'll brand you as quarrelsome," she continued, cleaning Aly's other many cuts with rags and a bowl of water. "No-one will buy you for a bedwarmer now, unless they're the ones that like to break a woman's spirit before they play with her."

Aly looked at her through swollen and bruised eyes.

The big woman rocked back on her heels. "You did this on _purpose_? Are you truly cracked? A bedwarmer gets fed, and clothed, and sleeps warm."

"With a good owner," Aly replied, grimacing through the pain of talking. "Not with a bad one. My aunt Risaph used to be a flower seller in Corus. She told me all manner of tales about masters and servants. I'll wager it's worse when you're a slave with a choke collar." She tugged at the leather band around her neck, gasping as the chaffed skin twinged. "I'd rather not find out. Better to be ugly and troublesome."

The woman shook her head, gently washing the blood from Aly's chin. "Were you always this mad, or did it come on you when you was took?"

Aly smiled, closing her eyes against the swarm of movement around her. "I'm told it runs in the family."

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**End Note: **So, I hope you enjoyed this chapter (but not too much because Aly did just get a broken nose!) and I'd love to see some reviews (Yes, I am fishing for reviews *pulls out fishing rod* but reviews give me the motivation to write - which has been spoiled my school and a cold at the moment) and look out for a familiar character in the next chapter: He's very good at hiding so we'll have to see who can spot him!


	3. Sold

**Disclaimer:**All characters, settings, names, and other copyrighted material belongs to Tamora Pierce or its original author. I'm just a student who likes to borrow fictional worlds and torment the characters.

**Author's Note: **Thank you so much to **Yreva13 **and **Cymru na Alethaira** for reviewing the previous chapter! Your support and kindness is greatly appreciated. Thank you also to those of you who added this to your alerts and favourites - this is also very much appreciated. Oh, and this chapter is actually being put up on Saturday (well, in Australia at least) I'm actually on time for once! So read, enjoy, and review.

Also, take a guess at the mysterious man in the crowd....winners will get....a mention in the next author's note and...a story if they want one (suggest the plot and I'll write it)

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_**The Buyer's Ring, Rajmuat Slave Market, Kypriang, the Copper Isles**_

Early the next morning, as the sun began to grace the horizon, Aly was taken from her slave pen and thrown into a large ring. She stumbled around for a moment, her legs still stiff from sitting, using the time to study her surroundings. The Rajmuat slave markets worked much like Tortall's livestock sales. Slaves were kept in their pens until the day of the market, the tenth and twentieth day of every month, at which point they were organised into groups. The groups contained around fifteen potential slaves who each had a number painted on their tunics or bare skin. Groups were then lead into a ring of spectators and buyers for viewing. After the viewing, slaves were auctioned one by one until as many were sold as possible. The slaves who didn't attract any bids went back to the pens, or were added to another buyer's purchases for free.

Aly was number seven in her group of sixteen, and, so far, everyone that looked at her had winced or scowled and turned away. She could see that they were being put off by her appearance and her obvious affinity for causing trouble. The corners of her lips twitched into a smile when a large man dressed in fine silk and gold jewellery shrank back from her steady glare. He was one kind of man that Aly had vowed to avoid; the kind that looked for a soft and pretty, young girl to share their bed.

Ferant stalked around the ring on the opposite side to hers, pleasing the buyers who were looking for a strong slave to do hard labour. His sullen face remained unchanged as he scratched at the number painted on his chest. Aly had managed to avoid him after their fight, but he now bore a blotchy bruise on his chin, and harboured the desire for revenge. She was just about to walk into his line of sight to start another fight, when the slave dealers began the biding.

"Offers start at one seratudu for the first slave," one of the dealers shouted, grinning as hands went up to raise the bid. "He is trained in carpentry and smithing, a valuable slave if ever there was one."

The first three slaves were sold quickly, and taken back to the pens by guards to be collected by their new masters, or the masters' servants. The fourth slave had a few interested buyers, but none were willing to lift the price higher as the dealers struggled to get every last gigit they could. Aly was about to make another attempt at starting a fight with Ferant, when she felt eyes on her. Spinning on her heels, Aly caught the man's eyes. He stared back, not at all put off by her appearance.

He was only young, around her age, and nearly six feet tall. His skin was dark, but not raka brown, and his build wiry. Aly could not make out his face very well, so she tried to sharpen her Sight to see him better. As soon as she began to concentrate, a sharp pain rushed through her eyes and she dropped to her knees, cradling her head.

"You!" A guard growled, starting forward with his padded baton raised. "Get on your feet. There'll be no lazing about while I'm here."

Aly struggled to push herself from the floor, wobbling as the pain receded. The guard watched her impatiently for a minute before he grabbed her under the arm, and pulled her up. Her head rushed, eyes filling with bright starbursts of colour as a howling noise reached her ears.

"Now you listen here. Stop playing cracknobbed before you put the customers off. You don't want to force the dealer to make an example of you."

The guard let go of Aly, keeping his baton out as he watched her stumble away. She had already forgotten about him by the time she found a wall to lean on.

_What is going on? _She thought, aware of the dizziness fading from her mind. _I'm kidnapped by Kyprioth, abandoned, and left in the Copper Isles without money, any way of contacting my family, or my freedom. Now I cannot even use my Sight without it causing problems. And where did that man go? _Aly looked up abruptly, searching the crowds for the tall, young man. He was nowhere in sight and she did not want her pain to return. _Mithros be damned, what am I meant to do now?_

Maybe it had not been a brilliant idea to curse Mithros, or maybe Aly herself had been cursed, but the dealer chose that moment to start the bids for her sale. "Do I hear five gigits?"

She glanced around furtively, glaring at anyone who seemed the slightest bit interested. One man, his sparse hair greying, smiled at her with a mouth full of broken and blackened teeth. Aly tensed, recognising the one type of buyer that may actually consider her. Luckily, the man had a friend with him who pointed at another girl, shaking his head in Aly's direction.

"How about we lower the starting bid," the dealer said, growing nervous now. "Three gigits? This is an excellent offer, she doesn't look like much now, but all pretty things come from ugly beginnings."

The man and his friend were fighting with each other now, on the verge of a brawl. Aly knew that she would have a very hard time of escaping if those two bought her.

"Two gigits? This is your last chance."

_I know I just insulted you Bright Mithros_, she thought desperately as she watched the man punch his friend. _But, might it be possible for you to, just this once, make the stars shine in my direction. Please, Mithros. And if not you, then the Goddess, the Black God, Gainel, Mynoss, the Cat, Shakith, Weiryn and the Green Lady, and anyone else who is listening. Help me!_

The dealer sighed, catching Aly's attention again. "One gigit. Who here would not buy a slave for the price of a pebble?"

The crowd suddenly broke out into loud whispers. She could not avoid hearing them, no matter how hard she tried.

"One gigit! Who cares if she's trouble?"

"We can break her, for sure."

"She'd have a pretty face if she wasn't all skin an' bones. She could fetch a good price at t' inn."

"What do we have to lose? If the girl doesn't work out, we can sell her on to the mines, they're always looking for workers."

"Me n' tha boys likes a challenge."

Aly shuddered as hands began to rise. How could she have upset the gods so much to deserve this fate?

"Two gigits?" The dealer asked, a grin spreading slowly across his face.

"Three gigits!" A thin man yelled over the noise of the crowd.

"Four!"

"Five!"

She examined each bidder as they jumped into the frenzy, and did not like what she saw. Most were male, between their early thirties and late fourties, with unkempt clothes and hair. Many had a nasty look about them, mouths twitching compulsively as they watched with excited, beady eyes.

"Does anyone wish to bid higher?" The dealer was leaning forward in his seat, feeding off the frenzied crowd's enthusiasm.

The crowd froze, the ring falling into silence. It seemed that five gigits was the limit of their generosity. The dealer pouted, preparing to sign the declaration of sale. His quill was about to touch the parchment when someone shouted out a new offer.

"Ten gigits!"

Aly spun around, grasping the edge of the wall she leaned against for balance. It was the man with rotting teeth and a distinct lack of hair. He seemed to have knocked his friend out with the butt of his knife and was now on his feet, grinning at the dealer.

"Ten gigits for the ugly northerner."

The crowd cheered as the dealer signed the declaration of sale with a flourish. Aly cringed, looking for a way out. Somewhere to run, to hide. A place where the wall was low enough to jump. She found nothing.

"Gods bless you," the dealer boomed. "Guards, take the slave to the holding pens. Now, how about we start off with five gigits for number eight?"

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**End Note: **So, thanks for reading! And, before you go, I would love to have at least **3 new reviews **(Yep, I'm fishing again *smacks self over head with a copy of Macbeth* bad Jess, bad!) before next Saturday. They would really make my bad week a whole lot better (I'm sick - asthma - and this much *holds fingers a millimetre away from each other* away from hospital. I'm also bored which is a very bad combination!)

Oh, don't forget to take a guess at the identity of the mysterious man. And any ideas/comments/questions will be replied to in full (I have a lot of time to do that, being of school and everything =P)


	4. The Gigit Inn

**Disclaimer: **All characters, settings, names, and other copyrighted material belongs to Tamora Pierce or its original author. I'm just a student who likes to borrow fictional worlds and torment the characters.

**Author's Note: **Wow, you are all **amazing**! **_9_** reviews on one chapter, I was never expecting that! Thank you so much to **MagnetTarpit, Anon, Cymru na Alethaira, Yreva13, FoxGlade, YuukiCullen, MoonlightAngel, Cicci Green **and **short fat bibilophile**, you're all wonderful! Also, thank you to everyone who has taken the time to read this/put it on favs/alerts, your support is greatly appreciated. Oh, I almost forgot to mention the fact that this chapter is late because was being weird over the weekend (Yeah, it's not actually my fault this time!)

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_**Kypriang, the Copper Isles**_

Aly struggled viciously against her guards all the way back to her new owner's lodgings. The balding man and his friend had also purchased four other young girls at the market, but their eyes were dull as they sat quietly in the horse-drawn cart, heads bowed.

"Gods curse ye'," a red-faced guard yelped as Aly spat at him. He lifted his padded baton from his lap and held it against her chin. "The Master said t' leave the beatin' t' him, but you need the teachin'."

Another of the guards, a well muscled man with a Tyran accent, shoved the baton away from Aly's chin with his own. "Put it down. She'll learn soon enough." He glanced back at her with dark eyes. "They all do."

Her body shuddered at his look but she kept her glare steady. The Tyran and his friends turned away, now more interested in the other pretty slaves. Aly took the chance to think and plan her escape.

She needed to run away before her owners started their 'teachings'. She could avoid them for a while by misbehaving, but they would soon catch on and punish her. She also had to get rid of the horrid leather collar around her neck. Since her sale, the mages at the slave market had altered the spell on the collar to kill her if she wandered more than ten yards away from her guards. To remove it, she would have to find either the special saw that could cut through both the collar and the magic, or a mage who would be able to speak the counter spell. If she tried to escape with it still on, the magic in the collar would kill her before she managed to take two steps towards Tortall.

Another problem was her distinct lack of weapons. The pirates had taken her knives and lockpicks when they kidnapped her from Tortallan waters. They had no doubt pilfered her good quality knives for themselves and thrown her treasured set of lockpicks overboard. Making a new set of picks would not be too hard a task - if she could get her hands on a pair of pliers and some wire - but she needed something to defend herself with and she needed it quickly.

Aly looked around subtly, noting every possible weapon her eyes found. She had just spotted a knife strapped loosely to the inside of the Tyran guard's boot when the cart drew to a stop. The guards stood, causing the horses to fuss and prance as the cart shifted behind them.

"Watch them," the red-faced guard said to the horses' owner as he jumped from the back of the cart. "The last thing we need t' be worryin' 'bout is your runaway horses."

"Right-O," replied the man, pulling the reins tighter.

Aly smiled at her luck. The horses were tossing their heads against the bit now, shifting their hooves in nervous anticipation. If she timed her attack right, she would be able to lift the Tyran's boot knife without raising suspicion. She would be gone before the guard even noticed it was missing.

Following her new plan, Aly purposely made sure she was the last slave to get out of the cart. She stumbled as she got down, grabbing for one of the cart's large wheels to support herself. The Tyran growled and grabbed her under the arm as he stepped down, towing her along with his baton ready in the other hand. He dragged her past the fretting horses roughly, tugging and pulling at her dirty tunic.

The Tyran did well until he lost his temper as Aly began to drag her feet. He jerked her to a sudden stop, making the foolish mistake of turning around to shout at her. When he spun to face her, she hooked her foot around his ankle and fell sideways, making it look as though she had lost her balance and accidentally walked into him. The Tyran cursed like a soldier as he went down, letting go of her tunic so he could break his own fall. Aly heard a pleasing _crunch_ as the guard broke both his wrists.

"Dawlish!" The red-faced guard yelled, running back towards the cart. The horses spooked as the man ran up on their blind side and took off, dragging their terrified owner with them. Aly used the distraction to reach, unnoticed, into the Tyran's left boot. She found the knife's hilt after a moment of searching, but struggled to draw it without accidentally stabbing the man as he writhed in pain, cradling his wrists to his chest. The knife came free just as another guard dragged Aly to her feet.

"What do you think you're doing, wench?" the man growled, holding her tightly by the elbow. Aly clasped her hands together before her stomach and bowed her head, hiding the knife in her fists. "Good," the new guard smiled as she looked the picture of a cowed and defeated slave. "It seems we might be gettin' somewhere with this one." He then turned towards Dawlish who glared balefully up at them. "Get off your arse, scummer brain."

Aly allowed herself to be pulled into an old, wooden building, keeping the knife held tight in her fists. The paint had begun to peel off the sign outside the establishment, but the name _Gigit Inn_was still visible above the image of a chestnut coated Kudarung. The front doors squeaked open as her guard pushed them, revealing a large pub with a grand staircase at the back that led to the second and third floors. The empty room was dimly lit by a cobweb riddled chandelier that hung from the high ceiling. Tables lined one side of the room, chairs stacked upside down on top of them. Another table held a group of well polished candelabrum with an opened crate of spare candles beside it. The Gigit Inn had obviously once been a magnificent building, but now its finery dimmed in comparison to its stench of spilt alcohol.

The guard hauled Aly across the pub, followed by Dawlish and his red-faced friend. As they reached the stairs at the back of the room, she stumbled on a part of the carpet that had worn away. The red-faced guard shoved his baton into the small of her back and pushed her up the stairs from behind. Dawlish and the other guard walked two steps behind them, watching through cautious eyes.

"Here we are," the red-faced one finally said with a lot more cheer than Aly had expected. They had reached the third floor and now stood before a heavy, crimson painted door. "It's time for ye' t' learn yer lessons an' start makin' us some money."

The small group pushed through into a cosy sitting room. The air was warm and smelled of licorice and mint, a welcome change to the reek that filled the pub. A fire danced invitingly behind its grate, casting flickering shadows over the comfortable furniture. Most of the overstuffed armchairs that lined the room were empty, but the three chairs closest to the fire were occupied.

"There she is," the balding man with rotten teeth smiled, lounging over his chair's arm. He still looked as pleased as he had been when he bought her. "She'll be a fine one yet."

Aly glared at the man, her hands gripping the stolen knife tighter. He leered back at her with a malicious glimmer in his eyes.

Another man, the one who had accompanied her buyer to the slave markets, snorted. "Or so he says."

"I don't just says it, I knows it. If you'd only look a' her, you'd see that-"

"Now stop that," the last occupant exclaimed, startling Aly. "I've already dealt with your squabbling once this afternoon. I will not be nice about it again."

The third person in the room was a well built woman. She wore a cherry red gown that was trimmed with cream lace, and cut low at both the back and the front. Her lips, cheeks and eyelids were heavy with face paint while her thick mane of brown hair was pulled back with a handful of jewelled pins. She seemed pretty enough, but her dark eyes were cruel in the firelight.

"Yes, milady."

"Good." The woman smiled at the two men before turning back to Aly and her guards. The red-faced guard poked his baton into the bruise he had created on her back, forcing her to stand up straight. "She might be pretty," the woman said, tilting her head to the side as she appraised her newest slave through critical eyes. "She isn't sick and she seems to have eaten well in the past." Her attention turned to Dawlish who was scowling at Aly's back, his broken wrists still cradled to his chest. "We can get a collar that will keep her out of trouble."

"Are ye' sure, milady?" The red-faced guard started. "She might not be worth the trouble of-"

"Who makes the decisions around here?"

"Ye' do, milady."

"Would you dare to question my choices?"

"N-No," he stuttered, the hand that held his baton jerking, "milady."

"So if I say that she is acceptable, you will agree with me?"

"Yes, milady."

She nodded, just once, and swept one lazy hand towards the door. The guards scrambled to drag Aly from the room, afraid to outstay their welcome. When they were in the hallway again, the oak doors closed firmly, the red-faced guard turned on Aly with a snarl.

"Looks like you'll be here a while longer." He started to push her along with his baton again, heading for the stairs. "Also looks like yer in fer a visit from the Filch."

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**End Note: **There we go, I pulled through an annoying case of writer's block and updated! But I think this chapter makes more questions than it answers...(he he he) Anyway, thank you so much for reading and I'll be updating again next Saturday (if is nice to me this time) Oh, since you were all so amazing with your reviews last week, do you think that I could ask for maybe **5 reviews **before the next update *holds review-fishing rod behind back*

And here is where I'll be answering all anonymous reviews from now on (at the bottom of each chapter) because I think you all deserve answers as well!

**Anon: **Thank you! I can guarantee that there will be _many_ more twists!

**YuukiCullen: **Thanks, no one has guessed it yet so I'll drop a hint into the next few chapters =D

**MoonlightAngel: **Thank you!


	5. Filch

**Author's Note: **I'm going to be skipping out on the disclaimer from now on - I think the first four are enough to say that I don't own anything!

Thank you to **parseltonge girl, amber, Cicci Green, FoxGlade, elleminnowpee, Cymru na Althaira **and **MagnetTarpit **for your wonderful reviews! It really means a lot to me that you like my story so far and I'm going to try very hard to keep going! On that same note, this chapter is a little late (only a day though, which is better than some of my other stories on my old account that haven't been updated for 6 months) because of Numair. Yes, I will blame it on a fictional character, but I think that George, Nawat, Rosto, Neal and Dom should all shoulder a bit of the blame as well (I got a bit distracted reading all the TP books again)

I would also like to say a _huge_ thank you to the person that added this story to their community! That was a huge surprise! And of course, thank you to everyone who has read/reviewed/faved/alerted this story. I love to see the spikes on my story traffic page every time I update!

So, anyway, read on, (hopefully) enjoy, and review!

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_**The Gigit Inn, Kypriang, the Copper Isles**_

The red-faced guard's baton never once left Aly's back as he pushed her all the way to Filch's personal study. The rooms were well hidden below ground, at the back of the Inn's cellar. Despite their natural concealment, Filch had also protected them with a number of powerful charms. She tried to examine the charms through her Sight but her stomach rolled as soon as she called on the magic. _Great_, she thought, _first that man made me feel sick, and now I can't even look at charms. Goddess bless it, another problem is the last thing I need._

Aly's thoughts were interrupted by Dawlish who had been quiet since his talk with the lady. "Why do I have to see Filch? Why can't I see one of the pretty healer lasses?"

"The Filch can fix ye up just as good as one o' the pretty ones," the red-faced guard replied, shoving Aly through the door to Filch's rooms. She stumbled in the dark, using the moment of confusion to tuck her stolen knife into the side of her loincloth. The two able-bodied guards grabbed her abruptly under the arms, hauling her forwards as Dawlish resignedly trudged after them. None of the three noticed her hands now hung loosely at her sides.

Filch's rooms were large and well furbished but a thin film of filth and dust that hung in the air and covered the floor. Detailed paintings and maps covered the peeling walls, but they were dull and mouldy. The roof caved inwards at the centre of the room, pulled down by the broken chandelier that dangled from it. Tables and armchairs were scratched and missing legs, doors hanging haphazardly from their hinges. Like all the other things Aly had set eyes upon in the Gigit Inn, Filch's quarters spoke of long forgotten wealth and finery.

"Lady Dahlia?" A male voice called from an adjoining room. Candlelight poured from the open door, casting flickering shadows across the tattered carpet. "Is that you? Did you bring another for me?"

Aly winced as her guard pressed his baton into the tender spot on her back. No doubt this _Lady Dahlia_ the man spoke of was the pretty brunette woman in the cherry red gown; the woman who spoke so easily of forcefully controlling her slaves' minds.

"Answer me!" Something moved towards the door, blocking the candlelight. "Who is it?"

The red-faced guard shared an uneasy look with his companions before he answered in a quiet voice. "It's Lady Dahlia's personal guard. She sent us to you with a new slave. It's a young, pretty one from Tortall."

"Ah, Dawlish, Crawley and Redfern, I thought I smelled fear. Bring her here."

The shadow moved away from the door as the guards started forward. Crawley, the red-faced one, poked and prodded Aly along in front of him and stepped back when she fell over the threshold. Redfern stayed with Crawley, but he pushed Dawlish forwards to stand beside her. The Tyran held his broken wrists against his chest, his eyes wide with dread. Aly was about to examine her surroundings when her eyes caught sight of the man slumped in a gold-leafed armchair by an empty fireplace. He seemed to be deep in thought but he whipped his head up as if he sensed her staring at him.

"Interesting," he remarked, silver eyes flashing, "this one has a god's mark on her but it is scarred over. She also knows magic, her mind is…well guarded."

"The Mistress said to bring the slave down here and get a proper collar on her. Also, if you will Master Filch, Dawlish needs his wrists seeing to-" Redfern broke off as Filch turned his head to glare at him. Aly shuddered as soon as he took his gaze away from her. No matter how hard she struggled, she had not been able to break away from his look.

"That, I can do. Leave."

Crawley and Redfern did not even pause to argue, they ran from the room like dogs with their tails between their legs. Dawlish moved to run after them but Filch grabbed his wrists. The Tyran bellowed in pain and tried to jerk his arms away from the other man. Filch just smiled and grasped them harder.

"Mortal bones and flesh are so weak, so pathetic, so frail. The smallest amount of pain-" Filch pushed Dawlish's hands back towards his shoulders, putting more strain on the man's broken wrists. "-and you crumble like dust."

Aly looked away from Filch and his captive and began to search the room for anything she could use to her advantage. Dawlish's torture did not particularly upset her (she'd heard worse rumours about what her Da did to get information from his prisoners), it was the knowledge that Filch could do much worse to a slave that disturbed her. She had to find a way to get her collar off and escape before Filch grew bored of playing with Dawlish.

A bright flash of lime coloured light drew Aly's attention back to the men before she had the time to locate any weapons or boltholes. Dawlish lay unconscious at Filch's feet, his breathing deep and even, as the older man bent over him. The Gift spilled from Filch's cupped hands, falling in glittering trails to wrap around Dawlish's wrists. Aly backed away in surprise, her knees bumping against a low table. She had grown so dependent on her Sight at home that she had not realised what it would be like to live without it. Her mother had tried to warn her about using magic as a crutch before but she never really listened. Aly cursed her own stupidity as she thought back to all the lessons that she had wasted. _If I get out of this alive and make it back home, I'm going to make sure that Ma knows just how much I love her._

"Now," Filch smiled, turning towards her. Dawlish still seemed to be asleep, his wrists glowing from the healing, "what do we have here?"

She stood rigidly still as the mage circled her. He nodded to himself, his thinly lipped mouth twisted up into a light smile. When he had walked a full ring around her, he brushed his fingers over the leather collar at her neck, smile widening.

"Yes, you are quite a pretty thing. It's a shame to imprison such a free spirit." Filch moved over to a cluttered workbench that ran along the length of the room's back wall. A row of hooks was set above the workbench, each hook occupied by various slave collars. He sifted through them, setting two aside while he placed ten others back on their hooks. "One of these should do," he said in an approving voice. "Which do you prefer - the one that will choke you to death, or the one that will poison you if it is removed?"

Filch stood as close to Aly as he could get, a collar in each hand. She tried to meet his eyes defiantly but almost yelled in shock. At this distance, she could clearly see that his eyes had no pupils and no whites. She now realised that what had seemed grey was actually metal.

"Do you like my eyes?" Filch grinned, stepping closer. "It was quite by accident that I discovered the advantages of having a conductive medium in contact with ones brain tissue. Most of the magical community thought I was crazy, that the dagger through my skull had stolen my sanity, but I proved them wrong. Now I hear everything, see everything, without the conscious use of my Gift. It is _very_ useful, –" He dropped one of the collars to the floor, holding the other in two hands"- especially when someone has a secret to hide."

Aly pulled her knife out as he started towards her. If Filch could see _everything_, he would already know she had stolen it. He would also know things about her family, her friends, the realm; things that she could not allow him to know.

"Stay away from me," she growled, shifting her stance so she was crouched low to the ground. "If you know _all_ there is to know, you will understand that I will not hesitate to kill you. Put the collar down and sit on the floor with your hands on your knees."

Filch did not bat an eyelid as he continued towards her. "Dearest Aly, I am a _mage_. I may not be as powerful as your uncle, but I have learned a thing or two about death spells. You are not stupid; you know your knife is no match for a trained mage. I would now like to suggest that _you_ listen to _my _orders. Put that thing down and be a good little girl."

"No."

"Consider your answer carefully."

"No."

Filch rolled his metal eyes and swept his hands before his chest in a downwards motion. His lime green Gift spread across the floor like a disease, wrapping around Aly's bare feet in sleek, cold tendrils. The magic spread up her body, pulling her out of her crouch and binding her limbs together. Some of the tendrils moved down her arms, dragging them towards her sides. When the spell reached the hand that held the knife, it began to squeeze the fingers ruthlessly. Aly held on for as long as she could but the pain finally overwhelmed her control and she dropped her last weapon.

"There, that's much better." Filch clapped his hands and the tendrils solidified into chains. "Now, I'm going to put this collar on you, and then we're going to have a nice little chat to Lady Dahlia. She is going to _love _what I have to say to her."

Aly struggled in vain as Filch removed the leather collar from her neck. He examined the chaffed and sore skin for a moment before he covered it with the new collar. This collar was cold and heavy, a metal ring that pressed uncomfortably against her throat. The mage said a string of words in Old Thak and the two ends of the collar joined together, completing the ring and the confinement spells attached to it.

"There we go. Now, my advice to you is _do not try to escape_. This collar may choke you to death which is both painful and slow. Or, this collar may poison you if you attempt an escape and _ever_ try to take it off. I will not tell you which collar this is. As long as you are in contact with it, and within range of this Inn, you are safe. Do you have any questions?"

Aly twisted as far as she could in her chains and spat in Filch's face. He backhanded her across the cheek with a grin and wiped his face.

"Well then. It's time the cub learned not to stray from the Lioness's den."

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**End Note: **Oh no, scary evil Filch and scary evil cliffhanger - I am a scary evil writer!

Any questions/comments/random ramblings are very welcome and I'm looking for **5 reviews **before the next chapter (but you've all been so awesome for the past two chapters and gone way over that - not that I'm complaining!) Another important thing that I should say is that there is a **poll** on my profile page that allows you to **vote for up to** **5** **pairings**. This poll is what I'm basing my next stories off - **the pairing with the most votes is the one that I will be writing for** and then I'll write for the next one, and so on.

Ooh, the next chapter will be interesting....the identity of that strange man from chapter 2 might even be revealed....

**Anon review replies:**

**amber: **Thank you!

**elleminnowpee: **Yes, I decided that it would be too easy for Nawat to have rescued her from the slave market when I was planning this story - by doing it like this, I get some new bad guys to play with and Nawat can show up when everyone least expects it....*looks around* And I can say that, yes, Aly will be catching up with Kyprioth sometime in the near future, and she is _not_ going to be happy! Thank you so much for reviewing!


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